Mud Moon Shine

Heart is the sky and its open mouth that
codes silence blue and gray is reciting a

deferred hymn. Let the language of rains
slip in. Let rivulets flutter on a tawny arm that is

outstretched and upturned. Like the heart in which
the sky lives. Smokes. Gets high on the hill-fire smoke,

breaks bread, dunk s it in psalms and taadi
spins it around before a sudden swallow and belch

before the mercury swells like a patriarch’s ego muscle
it down and feed it mud. Wet, slippery and chocolaty mud

will mould feet flip flopping in lightning. It’ silver
anklets rhyme in a pair. Thunder fills in the empty corridors and

groans, grimaces – barks at the moon, a rabid pet. The heart stills
it’s motions, clocks it’s movement to the scuttling little

fish in a trough. Omitted travelers. Blind like the quad
bathed in darkness – listening to the beats of the

Heart that hangs from it’s own sky. A moon in
Silence. Penance. Patience.

After watching this. (Hriday Aakash)
Also, remembering a gonesoquickly childhood. (No alleigance to Zaro Weil though)